


Hidden Treasures

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Auction, BAMF Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon is Batgirl, Damian Wayne is Robin, Good Slade Wilson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Kidnapping, M/M, Protective Batfamily, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Slade Wilson, Rescue Missions, Safehouses, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-18 16:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: Nightwing gets kidnapped by a group of people who intend to sell him to the highest bidder. Much to Batman's surprise, Deathstroke comes offering him a way to save his boy, apparently free of charge. The question on everyone's minds, however, is why?





	Hidden Treasures

**Author's Note:**

> Currently in my draft folder I have _five_ Dick/Slade fics, some of them far darker than others. I don't know what set me on this pairing path, but apparently I'm gonna be on it for a smidge. We'll see how much makes it out of the draft folder and into actual publishing.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

The message, when it came, went out to all the major players.

Deathstroke, having already solidified his high position in the criminal underworld, was of course one of those to receive the offer, and a lead ball settled in his stomach when he did.

_Nightwing for sale. Highest bidder takes the bird._

This...was a problem. Because in the last few years, Nightwing had made himself a  _big_ problem for all the villains in the world. He had quickly proven that he was far more than Batman's little sidekick, and he had a tendency to piss people off because of it.

Slade had, on numerous occasions, gone up against the ex-Robin, and could attest to the boy's skill.

And now someone had managed to grab him and subdue him firmly enough to put him on sale. And with this message being so widespreadwell, everyone was going to want to bid, a majority of them far less kind than Deathstroke himself would be.

Because not only did Nightwing earn himself his shining reputation, but everyone knew that getting to him would also mean getting to the bat, and with the bat came the rest of the league. Nightwing was rumored to personally be friends with Superman, after all, and all the rest.

Villains might not have been a big fan of the young vigilante, but heroes certainly were. So whoever bought Nightwing not only got some revenge on the hero himself, but got to hurt everyone else simply by proxy.

And what a big  _Fuck You_ to Batman it would be.

Whoever won would torture the young hero, might even do worse, and then would of course kill him. Probably record it, too, and if they were smart they'd then lie low to avoid the bat and his motley crew as they went on their witch hunt.

Deathstroke couldn't let any of that happen. The idea of Nightwing being tortured, being _killed...?_ It was unthinkable.

So the obvious solution to the problem was giving the highest bid, winning Nightwing himself, and then releasing the little bird back into the wild. It might damage his reputation for a while, but no one would be stupid enough to confront him about it.

The  _problem_ with that idea, however, was that there was no way Slade was going to offer the most money. People like Lex Luthor were going to be in the running, and as comfortable as Deathstroke was, he knew he couldn't outbid a billionaire with a grudge the size of North America.

Someone must've requested proof, because the day after the message went out, so did a video.

Slade watched it a thousand times, watched as a couple masked men sneered and jeered at the bound form of Nightwing, as the hero snarked back and only got a beating for his trouble. He watched as the captors told the young man to state his name and how much he thought he was worth, and Deathstroke couldn't help but be terribly amused (and fucking _pissed)_ when Nightwing's response was to headbutt the guy and threaten him with reprisal.

How many times had he told Nightwing that sometimes he needed to keep his fucking mouth _shut_ to avoid further injury-?

The bat needed to teach his kids better, Jesus fucking Christ.

Slade was a practical man, which meant that he knew what he had to do. He wouldn't be able to _buy_ Nightwing, which meant he had to  _rescue_ him. But to do that, he was, admittedly, going to need some help.

The night after the video came out, Deathstroke stalked the rooftops of Gotham, waiting for one of Batman's followers to make an appearance. Soon enough one did, the third ex-robin, who had kept the closest to his roots than his two predecessors. _Red Robin,_ he was called. Slade had never really had any interaction with the kid but apparently he was a smart boy, practical and quick on his feet.

Definitely the right one to run into, instead of the demon of a child that was currently running around as Robin, nor the undead one who would've sooner put a bullet in Slade's head than listen to his proposal.

"Not here to fight," Deathstroke said, his hands raised peacefully as Red Robin shifted his weight, ready to attack. "I have something I want you to give to the bat.”

The young vigilante narrowed his eyes and relaxed his stance slightly, enough to give the appearance of calmness but still ready to move at a moment's notice. "What's that?"

Slade reached slowly into one of his pockets, all of his movement exaggerated as to not give the kid a reason to attack. He could beat the boy, no doubt about it, but it would take time he'd rather not spend, and energy he'd rather not waste. A fight with his future ally would be pointlessthey both wanted Nightwing safe.

Red Robin caught the item Deathstroke tossed to him and frowned down at ita flashdrive, containing the video and original message. Once Batman watched it, Slade was sure that the hero would make contact; he'd be too curious (and too  _concerned)_ not to.

Deathstroke left before Red Robin could ask him any questions; the boy would deliver it to his mentor, Slade knew that without a doubt. He had no interest in conversing with the young vigilante past what he had toRed Robin wasn't the hero Slade gave a shit about.

As expected, the next night Batman sought Deathstroke out. Slade felt him approach and didn't say anything, staring out over the city, waiting.

Eventually, the bat asked, "Why did you give me that?"

"It'd be kind of funny, wouldn't it?" Slade said instead of answering the question. "If you offered those fuckers the most money and they still turned you down, simply because you are who you are and not somebody who'd take a piece out of Nightwing's hide?"

"So you passed the message along for amusement?" Batman asked, his tone clearly showing he didn't believe that.

"No," Deathstroke told him, because there was no point in skirting around the issue. They had plans to make. He turned around, facing the hero. It was funny; he was one of the few people who knew the bat's secret identity, and the other man had zero idea he knew it.

He knew all of them, really. Every single person in Batman's little clanhe knew all of their identities, simply because he knew Nightwing's and could connect a few dots.

He'd known for five years, and he'd never told a soul. Nightwing said it was because he was a softy. Slade thought it was because he was a sucker.

"Your boy's in danger," Deathstroke told Batman. "People far worse than me will be wanting to get their hands on him, and they most certainly won't be kind. If you want to save him, you're going to need my help."

Batman narrowed his eyes, calculating. "And why would you want to save Nightwing at all? You have, time and time again, tried to put him in the ground yourself. Why should I trust that you actually want to help?"

Slade snorted, shaking his head. "I don't make a habit of killing heroes unless a price has been put on their head. I've definitely had my fair share of fights with Nightwing, but I've never tried to kill him. If I had, he'd be dead."

"That doesn't answer my question," the bat said. Deathstroke could feel him watching him carefully, looking for any signs of why he was doing this at all. "How do I know you're not just playing another angle?"

This was the part where Slade could tell the truth. Batman might've or might not've believed him, but he could give the real reason all the same. But that would change everythinghe and Nightwing had kept a very precise balance, and telling the batclan would definitely tip the scales way off. It would affect them both  _immensely_ going forward. It wasn't just his decision to make.

So, he offered the bat a smirk. "You don't. But you have limited options here, Batman. I don't see villains lining up to help you find your boy, and you _need_ me to get him back. Your choice, hero, but better make it fastthe auction closes in two days, and that's when we need to make our move."

Slade watched as the vigilante weighed the pros and cons before nodding sharply. He didn't look happy about it, but an agreement was an agreement. "Fine. What's your plan?"

Deathstroke smiled. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

His plan, to no one's surprise, received a lot of backlash from the group of children Nightwing called his family.

They didn't like the idea of waiting until Nightwing had transferred hands to rescue him, claiming that the ex-Robin could easily be hurt in the meantime. Which was  _true,_ but Slade had already accepted that fact. They'd already tried to track his current location, to no success. The only way to find and save the kid was once he'd come back onto the board.

Yes, this probably meant there were going to be a few hoursmaybe so much as sixthat left Nightwing in the care of whatever psychopath had bought him, which probably meant the bird would have something more than a few bruises wrong with him, but it was the best (see:  _only)_ option.

And, frankly, they were all fucking smart enough to know that he was right. And yet, he was Deathstroke the Terminator, their enemy up until five minutes ago, and so they were disinclined to take him at face value.

Which, ok, Slade could understand. But they didn't have  _time_ for bickering.

Shockingly, or maybe not, the bat backed his play. Which meant that soon enough they all fell into line, still grumbling their protests but completing their parts all the same.

The moment the sale was finalized, they were ready to move. They tracked the group of terrorist thugs that got Nightwing, going after them quickly, trying to limit the amount of time they had to harm the vigilante in their possession.

Three hours, fifty-seven minutes.

Deathstroke was very good at what he did, and so taking down the idiots who got in his way was child's play. He faintly heard Batman shout at him to stop going for the kill, but since fucking when did the hero expect Slade to straighten up his actions simply because they were briefly on the same side? No, he would keep taking down these fuckers, thank you very much, and then he'd rescue Nightwing.

He found the part of the compound housing cells before the rest, and started going door-to-door checking for the kidnapped vigilante. There was one other person being held captive but Slade didn't give a shit about them, so he kept going until he reached the sixth cell and found who he was looking for.

He used a small detonator to blast the door from its hinges and then strode inside, looking the younger man over critically.

Nightwing was hanging from the ceiling, naked and covered in bruises. His head was hanging against his chest, his body limp. Slade swallowed and took a couple steps forward, reaching out to feel for a pulse.

He closed his eyes for two seconds, relieved, and then got to work freeing Nightwing from the metal chains.

The hero stirred faintly as his injuries were jostledother than the bruises he had a couple open wounds, like someone had started to get into the harder stuff and then been interruptedbut he didn't wake up.

It wasn't until Slade had Nightwing cradled carefully in his arms, head tucked into the curve of his neck, that the younger man twitched and then blinked his eyes open. He looked blearily up at the mercenary and slurred, "Slade? That you?"

"Yea, little bird," Deathstroke murmured. "It's me. Gettin' you out of here."

Nightwing stared for a couple more seconds, probably trying to register what had just been said to him, and then grumbled, "You're late." His eyes slid shut again but he was clearly still conscious, if a little out of it. The vigilante curled closer to Slade, one hand gripping faintly at the mercenary's shirt, and let out a shuddering breath.

Careful not to jostle the man in his arms too much, Deathstroke exited the cell, just as the heroes he'd arrived with approached. The younger ones dashed forward when they spotted the hero in his arms, quickly examining him and looking for anything that needed immediate attention.

As if Slade wouldn't have already taken care of any such wound. Puh-lease.

"Give him to me," Red Robin ordered as soon as he and the small demon Robin were satisfied.

Slade gave him an unimpressed look. "Kid, I'm sure you're strong, but not strong enough to carry Nightwing."

"Hand him over!" the youngest Robin demanded, his voice rising. Nightwing flinched back from the noise, making a sound close to a whimper, and buried himself closer to Slade's chest, clinging as tightly as he could in his barely conscious state. Deathstroke tightened his hold reflexively.

Both young vigilantes in front of him froze, their eyes going wide, and looked from Nightwing's slowly calming expression to Deathstroke's perfectly placid one.

Deathstroke moved around them, heading for the exit. Both Batman and the sole female in the group, Batgirl, were watching him with narrowed, calculated gazes.

"Is everyone else taken care of?" Slade asked, ignoring the looks.

"Yes," Batgirl said. He could see how much she wanted to move forward, to hold Nightwing herself and make sure he was alright, but she restrained herself, settling for letting her eyes roam over the boy's form, reassuring herself that he was still mostly alright. "The ones you didn't  _kill_ are unconscious and tied up."

Slade made a sound of acknowledgement, easily brushing off her judgement. "Well, if they're still breathing, I hope you all can accept the fact that they probably know Nightwing's identity, and might go blabbing."

It was then and only then that everyone seemed to register that along with being stripped of his costume, Nightwing had also had his mask removed.

The wary gazes on him grew even heavier, because now they thought they had to be concerned about the fact that the mercenary Deathstroke knew Nightwing's secret identity.

"I'm not the one you should worry about," Slade told them, amused, as they headed out of the compound. "It's those thugs in there." He wasn't overly concerned, though; he'd just find them all later and take them out permanently himself. The bat and his crew might not've been fans of killing, but Slade had no such qualms, and if it was to protect Nightwing, then who gave a shit?

"If you tell  _anyone-"_ Red Robin began threateningly.

"Stop shouting," Slade snapped at him when Nightwing once again tried to curl away from the noise, a pained sound working its way out of his throat. Slade adjusted his hold, bringing the vigilante closer to his chest, and Nightwing settled again, his expression spasming briefly before relaxing.

"Holy shit," Batgirl said, more to herself than any of them, and when Deathstroke glanced her way he saw her staring at where Nightwing's head was pillowed against Slade's shoulder, his face turned inward and just below the mercenary's jawline. Relaxed. Familiar. Comfortable. _Safe._ The girl's expression was incredulous, disbelieving.

She was the first to catch on. Girls usually were, really.

"We should get out of here," Slade said, looking to the bat, who had been strangely silent. "There any place in particular you'd like me to take him?"

After a moment's deliberation, Batman said, "Home, preferably."

That was a test, and such an obvious one. The masked hero had identified the possibility of a connection and wanted to see how much Slade already knew. Well, Deathstroke was done avoiding the issuehe rose to the test easily. Nightwing could be upset at him later if he didn't like it.

"Do you mean his apartment in Blüdhaven or the manor in Gotham?"

The young heroes gaped at him. Batman just sighed.

"A safehouse will do, I suppose."

The car ride was quiet and awkward, almost stifling. They all had questions and no clue where to start. He ignored them, focusing on keeping Nightwing secure enough in his arms that the turns and bumps of the road didn't jostle him too much.

They were just as silent as they walked up the stairs into a small safehouse Batman had led them too, and just as silent as Deathstroke laid the now unconscious hero gently down on the small bed. As soon as he stepped away, Nightwing made a small sound of protest, angling towards him, and Slade forced himself not to step forward again, allowing Red Robin, Batgirl, and Robin to step forward to look at his injuries.

"How long have you known?" Batman asked after a few moments of silence, standing next to him and watching his kids take care of his eldest.

Slade debated his answer to that question. He settled on the truth. "I learned who he was five years ago, and I'm not a moron. It was very easy to figure out the rest of you."

"If you're using him-"

"Hard as you might find this to believe," Slade interrupted, glancing at him briefly before fixing his gaze back onto Nightwing's prone figure, "I actually  _care_ about him, Wayne."

The bat stiffened at his usage of his real name but didn't comment on it. Instead he said, "Five years ago he was-"

"Underage," Slade said firmly, finishing the line. "And _no,_ to answer your almost-question, I didn't blackmail him into sleeping with me by using his secret identity as leverage. Nor did I even sleep with him at all back then. That started a year ago."

 _That_ started a year ago, along with everything else. Nightwing had him wrapped around his finger, he really did. Had for years, but now it was...

Well. Now it was something new.

After a few moments of silence, Slade wondered if this was when he was going to get the shovel talk from Batman himself. He was kind of curious about what that would entail, considering the hero refused to kill and Deathstroke did it for a living.

"You're very good at escaping prison," Batman said, his voice perfectly even, unbothered, almost _pleasant,_ "but I can promise you that you won't escape the hole we throw you into if you hurt him. Nightwing has quite a lot of people who care about him, and not a single one of them would bat an eye at us sealing you in a metal box and launching you into a wormhole."

Batman glanced at the mercenary, then walked towards the bed to join his family. "Just something to think about, Wilson."

Slade smirked at his back, hearing him loud and clear. He had no intentions of hurting Dick Grayson, though; he'd been stuck on this boy for years, and now that he had him, he wasn't going to do a single fucking thing to mess it up.

And, going by the way Dick's eyes slid open and searched the room until landing on him, smiling hazily when their gazes locked, the young vigilante was just as stuck on him.


End file.
